Nowhere Left to Run
by TheGoombas
Summary: Darren's life was turning to shit; his mom and aunt were missing and his dad was dead. But after an earthquake, two well-known actors show up at his doorstep, claiming to be 'FBI agents' and ask about his dad's strange death. What the hell was going on? (Story starts off during Season 6, after Episode 16.)
1. Prologue

**Authors Note: Hi everyone so this is our first collaborate story on here! If you like it please follow, review and favorite. :)**

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**Prologue: **

A black, silk tie rested on top of my white dress shirt, untied. I looked down at it, willing the tie to tie itself around my neck. Or better yet, for my dad to walk into the room and chuckle at me, like he used to.

"_Darren, you're 18, when are you gonna tie your own tie?'"_ He'd laugh at me, his eyes gleaming. He then would make that tsking sound parents make when you did something stupid, but good naturedly. That's how he was. He'd tie my tie for me and I'd feel like I was 6 again, just learning how to for the first time.

Of course I actually KNEW how to, I just wanted him to help me. His shift increased at work so we hardly talked. When I went to school in the morning, he'd tie it for me, no matter what he was doing. He was proud of me for getting into Genova High, and even more proud when I became valedictorian. We didn't have a lot of money and the fact that I got into that school, one of the top school's in the state with a full scholarship, was a big moment for me. He was _so_ proud.

Forcing myself to get moving, I tied my tie and quietly slipped out of my room. On the ledge next to the staircase hung my top-coat, same black as my pants. It sat there rumpled and I grabbed it, holding it limply in my hands. Closing my eyes, I put it on. It use to be dad's coat. It hung heavily on my shoulders, weighing them down, or maybe that was just the guilt.

I stiffly walked to my parents' room, well now just my mom's. The door was shut and, if I stood still just enough, I heard her crying. She tried to hold it in, I could tell by the soft gasps she'd make every so often. I knocked softly on the door.

"Ma?" I whispered hesitantly.

"C-Come in," her voice stuttered. I felt my heart break.

I opened the door. My mother sat on her bed, in the dress she wore with my dad on their 10th anniversary. They went to one of the best restaurants on the block. I remember the look in her eyes when she came home with him that night:, so carefree and happy for once. I don't think I've ever seen Dad with such a big smile stuck on his face. The dress was black with teal waves on the bottom. It kinda looked like a skirt, really fluffy at the end of it. He said it complemented her skin, making her look like a glowing goddess. His words, not mine. They _might _of been a little drunk.

I clutched her hands in my large one. She hung on like her life depended on it. Her hands were so cold. With my other hand I cupped her face and she leaned into it.

"Who would-" she tried to say, but a large sob escaped from her lips. I grabbed her and held her close to my body as she sobbed, her head resting on my chest. She was careful not to let her tears soak my shirt.

"I know," was all I could reply. My voice sounded empty and I felt a tear dribble down my face. My throat burned as I tried to keep my tears at bay. My mother needed me right now. Usually I'm pretty emotional. I wasn't afraid to cry. However, now was not the time to break down into tears. I needed to be strong for mom. Later tonight, while I was in my room, I would cry. But not now.

"You're all I got left baby," she said, her voice muffled through my shirt.

"I know," I said again, because what else could I say? What could I do to sate her pain, to make her tears dry? Absolutely nothing.

She cried in my arms for what seemed like centuries, even though it was only a few minutes. After a while she sniffled, the tears stanched for now. She sat up and sniffled once more, just once, and put a hand on my shoulder. Her skin, like mine,was just a shade lighter than my jacket, but her nails painted an emerald green, bringing contrast.

"Lets go," she said, not meeting my eyes. I nodded and we both stood up. Climbing down the stairs and out the door silently, I thought of nothing, trying to block out my emotions. But they always had a funny way of coming around to kick me in the ass. As we climbed into our 2002 mini-van, I behind the wheel, she broke down once more. I gritted my teeth as more tears unwillingly slid down my face. Without turning to look at her, I put the car in reverse and backed out of our driveway. Then, with one last look at our house, a house that would never be the same again, I started the drive to the funeral home.

The whole time in the car all I could think about was how this was all my fault. It was my fault we had to shake hands with almost strangers who were telling us how sorry they were. It was my fault that mom had to wear her anniversary dress to such an ironic event. Together forever, that was the promise. It was my fault dad was dead.

It was late on a Tuesday night. I've always hated Tuesdays. Not quite Monday, when you still had fresh memories of the weekend, and not quite far enough into the week where you feel the relief of the weekend soon-to-be. Dad and I were in the car. We were listening to some crappy song. He was singing loud, and I mean loud. It was pretty funny. I had the windows rolled down, because I wanted the neighbors to hear. Hear how happy we were. Hear how we didn't give a damn about what anyone thought. Our neighbors didn't like us that much, they call us trash. And sometimes, on a really bad day, I felt like trash. But I KNEW that we weren't and they couldn't stop us from having a good time with their harsh words. I remember the car stopped suddenly. I turned to dad, giving him a questioning glance, but it soon became apparent when I looked out the windshield. An attractive girl in a white nightgown was standing in the middle of the street. She had long brown hair and pale skin. She wasn't wearing shoes. I have to admit; she was kinda hot. "What the hell…" dad had muttered as he got out of the car. "Miss, are you Ok?" he asked her. She gave him what I assumed was suppose to be a reassuring smile but it creeped me out. "I'm fine, thank you. I just have some work to do," she said with another smile.

"Alright then, we'll just be on our way." my dad said and he stepped back into the car uncerminonally. As he slid into the front seat, I hit his shoulder and gave him a look. Even though she was creepy, that didn't mean we couldn't help her. She looked 18, about my age. She shouldn't be out in this weather, it was freezing. Besides, you know, she was hot. I quickly hopped out of the car. "Do you need a ride?" I asked her politely. "Yes, thank you…?" she murmured.

"Darren, my name's Darren." I replied managing a small smile.

After that, I can't remember a thing. I must of blacked out. All I know is that when I came to, the girl was gone and dad was dead. He was soaked in blood and had weird stab wounds all over him. It kind of looked like bite marks, but that girl definitely wasn't strong enough to hold him down and bite. Besides that was a little kinky. He was dead and it was my fault. I went into hysterics and I don't remember much after finding him.

I shook my head and tried to focused on the road. It was painful thinking of dad. He was my best friend and he was dead; and because I had freakin' amnesia, we couldn't even find the girl on the road with us. The doctors at the hospital said that she was probably a hallucination, caused by the traumatic event I went through. But I knew she was real. There was no denying it, no matter what everyone else thought.

My mom sniffled feebling next to me, and my eyes flitted towards her every so often. Her mascara was caked under her eyes, making her look like a racoon. I held out one hand and grip hers, the other I left on the steering wheel. We drove like this for the rest of the ride to the funeral home.

Soon enough, the dark gray building loomed in front of us. Two-stories tall, it was a skyscraper in our little town. Dark red windows and a huge white cross, it looked like a creepy horror-movie house. I pulled up in the back of their "home" and help my mother out of the car. She held on to my arm with a steel grip. We faced the funeral home, walking slowly but surely over to it. Her face took on an ashen tone. Reaching the glass doorway, a man was waiting for us, the funeral director, or whatever his official title was.

He was short and I towered over him, blocking out the weak sunlight that shone through the clouds that blanketed the sky. He had on a suit similar to mine, and had a purple handkerchief in his coat pocket. He looked kind, which was a little weird for an owner of a funeral home. They're usually portrayed in the movies as creepy old dudes, but he looked around his mid-forties and had a full head of reddish hair, not some weird comeover.

"So sorry for your loss, Mrs. Myers, thank you for picking Late's Funeral Home for your dearly departed." My mother nodded tersely and gripped my arm a little tighter than necessary. He led us to a room where we would hold the service before we went to the cemetery. It's cream colored walls looked too cliche, and the smell of flowers were too overwhelming.

A glossy, black coffin sat in the back of the room, thankfully closed. If I had to see my dad's lifeless body one more time, I don't know what I would do. Probably run out of the room crying.

We sat down where the families of the deceased sat. I sat stiffly in the too comfy arm chair.

As our friends and distant relatives piled in, each murmuring the usual for funerals, "So sorry for your loss" or "Andrew was such a good guy!" we just nodded. My mom seemed to never run out of tears, as they continued to streak down her face. My aunt sat next to her and nodded at me. We didn't really talk much, and she only visited my mom twice a year. They didn't get along well and it was better for all of us if they saw each other as little as possible. But she was here for my mom like she should be, which was a miracle all in its own. I didn't need to watch over my mom now.

Our pastor came and said a quick word about my dad. Nothing special. If dad could attend his own funeral, he'd probably make fun of Pastor Hew, complaining about the weird smell in the room. Good old dad.

A sudden sob heaved itself from my lips, right before Pastor Hew could finish his last sentence. He gave my a sympathetic look as I cried, but continued talking. Once he was done, and faint clapping could be heard, I bolted out of the room, using my long legs to carry me.

I ended up in the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My eyes were red and I was making awful choking noises, the one I called my dying seal noise. My eyes, a weird mix between brown and orange, stared back at me through the dirty mirror. They were my dad's eyes, "A Myers family trait!" he use to say. Great, just great. I cried harder.

* * *

After the depressing service at church, everyone piled into their cars to go to the cemetery. We were going to bury him at St. Aimo's Burial Ground. That's where mom's and his parents were buried.

It was slightly misty out and the dew clung to everyone's jackets. It was unusually cold for April. A sudden realization came over me. Dad was never coming back. This was the end. No more hugs. No more late Saturday nights of eating icecream and watching cop shows. He wasn't going to be around to tie my ties. My throat closed up. For the second time today, I cried. I felt like a baby, but I couldn't help it. I tried to hold back the ugly crying noises as I unwillingly let the tears slide down my face. This was so unfair. Why did he have to die? He didn't deserve it. It was my fault. I let that girl get into our car. I offered her a ride. I caused this. She killed him. I knew that was the truth; I felt it in my soul. She killed him, and I was going to find her.

Pastor Hew started his final speech about dad, letting a few tears dribble down to his chin. He had liked my dad, even though dad sometimes made fun of him. They were friends. I looked around. Everyone was either crying or had a look of pain on their face. That is, everyone except for one person.

Her.

The girl from the night dad was killed. She was standing on the other side of the grave with a little smile on her face, staring straight at me. The look in her eyes told me that she knew what I knew: she was real, and she had killed him.

Suddenly, I saw a flash of images. A group people attacking the homeless in street alleys, sinking their razor sharp teeth into their necks. A girl with claws ripping out and eating a man's heart. A little boy with pale skin that had huge bags under his oddly colored eyes eat a dead corpse. A sense of pride radiated from the girl. These were _her _children. Weren't they wonderful? She seemed to be saying, "You're next." Why was I seeing these images? Was I going crazy?

I let out a strangled gasp. A few people gave me a sympathetic look. I returned it with one of panic. What was going on? I whipped my head towards the girl. She looked completely calm. Keeping eye contact, she took a step towards me. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat and stumbled backwards. I never took my eyes off her; I was too scared. One of my distant cousins walked right in front of her, breaking our eye contact. When he moved, she was gone.

The rest of the funeral service I couldn't focus. I was too freaked out. I kept looking around anxiously, waiting for her to appear. However, she never showed. When we said our final goodbyes and slowly trudged back up the hill, I suddenly felt dizzy. My head was swimming and my eyesight was fuzzy. "Honey, are you O.K.?" my mom asked me, worried. "I'm fine, I just need to sit down." I lied. "Okay, well, I'll meet you in the car." she replied, probably thinking I needed some time alone. I hobbled over to a bench and plopped down. Was I going crazy?I put my head in my hands and felt like the world was spinning around me. I groaned. And suddenly, I was throwing up over the side of the bench. It was mostly bile; I didn't eat anything for breakfast except a banana. After I threw up I didn't feel much better. My stomach still churned, but I wasn't dizzy anymore.

I wobbly stood up, and stumbled over to my mother's car. She sat in the passenger side, knowing well enough that she wasn't equipped enough to drive. I got into the driver side and sat down. She put a hand on shoulder and gripped it flimsily, but her eyes were harder. She had done her crying for today. I was only the beginning.

"You okay to drive hunny?"

I sighed and with a short nod, started the car. Silently I drove home. I was tired, I just wanted to go home and sleep all day or maybe forever. It was noon.

We pulled up in our driveway and I shut off the car. The engine shut down and we just sat in the car numbly. My dad didn't have a lunch or service after the funeral, like I said before we don't have a lot of money. My aunt's car pulled up in the driveway behind us.

"What's Aunt Deborah doing here?" I inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"She's going to be staying with us for awhile," my mom said vaguely. I looked at her with disbelief. They didn't hang out, they barely tolerated each other. I understood why Aunt Deborah was going to stay with us, but life here would be hell. I didn't see the point; they would be fighting all the time.

I got out of the car and opened the door for my mother. While she got up, I hissed at her, "Ma, is this really a good idea?" She just nodded and walked to my aunt's car.

I walked away, calling out to them, "I'll be in my room." Unlocking the front door and bolting up the stairs, I opened my bedroom door and slammed it shut. My face crumpled and I fell face-forward onto my bed.

_My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault._

I felt tears well up in my eyes. I couldn't hold them back any longer and they rolled down my face..

_He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead._

I cried harder.

I didn't want to get up, so I didn't. The rest of the day I laid in bed. I sometimes cried, but usually I laid there, numb. The light in my room faded from the bright light of noon, to the soft gray of night. My eyes felt puffy and red. No-one bothered me. I heard yelling downstairs, but it sounded only like my mom. Already fighting with her sister. Listening as their fighting increased in volume I slowly drifted off into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I woke up with a gasp. My room was shaking wildly. _Earthquake _I thought frantically, scrambling up out of my bed. I fell over and whacked my head on the table. The room seemed to spin but I ignored it; I had to leave. A pot fell off my nightstand and shattered. In the ghostly moonlight, it looked white instead of the light blue it once was. The door swung open with another shake and I ran out, my feet sliding on the hardwood.

"Mom! Aunt Deborah!" I screamed out. No answer. Fear clenched my heart. I just lost my dad, I couldn't lose Mom and Aunt Deborah too. A loud crash resonated throughout the house, probably Mom's dresser falling over. I raced around the house, searching for my aunt and mother.

_I can't find them, oh god I can't find them._ "MOM! AUNTIE DEBORAH!" I screamed once again. The earthquake suddenly stopped and I fell to the floor with a loud thump. I scrambled up off the hardwood and looked at the wall cautiously. It was still. I walked around my house, my feet making slapping sounds. Tremors shook every so often and I ducked in door frames when it happened, scared that the house would fall apart.

This was crazy. My house was in ruins. Glasses were broken, pictures were shattered, furniture was knocked over. It was chaos and I couldn't find my mom. The power was out, I didn't have a cell phone and the house phone wasn't working. What could I do?

I spent the next hour and a half searching for my missing family members and fixing the house up the best I could. I swept up glass shards, and flipped furniture over. The lights flickered back on. I left the heavier stuff like the table near the door and my mom's dresser, on the floor. The cabinets on the kitchen still hung from their hinges. I put the broken pictures back on the wall. But really, what was the point, dad was dead and mom and Aunt Deborah were still missing.

As I sat down on the couch exhausted, I cried again, because what the hell was up with my life? My mom was no-where to be found, she probably was out with my aunt or something. Or at least, that's what I told myself. But something felt… off . Like, the room looked darker than it had previously, even though I never changed the lights in any way. It kind of looked like a filter you'd put on a picture. Making a mental note to find out what the hell happened tomorrow, I fell into an uneasy sleep on the couch, my heart in shards.

I woke up to the sound of a knock on my door. I lifted my head and groaned, suddenly assaulted with the memories of yesterday. Groggy, I wiped the sleep out of my eyes and yelled to whoever was knocking, "Just a minute!" My voice sounded hoarse. MY head pounded and I could barely open my eyes. I went to the sink, thankful that the water was on and got myself a glass. I chugged it down quickly and wiped at the stray trickle that ran down my chin. I was still in my tuxedo from yesterday so I jogged to my bedroom. Jumping over my dresser that was too heavy to push up without help, I reached my closet. I decided to change into gray sweatpants and an orange t-shirt. Who cared what I looked like anyways, it was early in the morning. Putting on, black sneakers I yawned. Judging by the sunlight, it was around 8 am. Who knocks on someone's door at 8 am? I quickly popped into mom's room. Empty. So was the guest room. Where were they? What was going on, why weren't they home yet? Caught up in my thoughts, I started pacing. But suddenly, a gruff voice called out.

"You okay in there man?"

. "Oh, sorry, um yeah I'm fine!" I apologised as I went to the door. AS I opened the door two FBI badges were shoved in my face. They flashed in the morning sunlight, slightly blinding me. Before I could get a good look at them, they were pulled away.

Barely looking at the two agents in front of me, I glanced around at my neighborhood. Everything looked pretty normal, except the lighting was still off. A shiny black car, that looked somewhat familiar was parked on the curb next to my house. Wait- was that the car I thought is was? Did the earthquake give me a concussion? Probably, last night's events were still fuzzy in my head. Besides, so many people probably have that same type of car. Everything felt ominous, like the world was holding it's breath. Yeah, I definitely had a concussion. Still not looking at the agents, I said, "That earthquake was crazy last night. Is everybody O.K.? I'm Darren by the way."

Finally, holding out my hand for them to shake, I looked up. I froze, my eyes wide. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Both men were tall and in dark suits, not unlike the one I was wearing just moments ago. I stared at them, their familiar faces peered at mine with slight confusion. The taller one's hair caught in the breeze and fluttered around his face. The shorter of the two, but still about an inch taller than I was, waved his hand in front of my face,

"You okay there pal?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow. I snapped out of it and promptly slammed the door in their faces. Their surprised cries reached my ears and I yell out at them.

"You're joking right? You think this is funny? Get off my property, I'm calling the cops." I reached for the phone and the taller one called out in complete confusion, "What?"

I opened the door again and he gestured to his brother. "My partner and I are here to ask a few questions about the murder of-"

"You have 5 seconds to get the _hell_ off my lawn and get into your Impala or whatever the hell the studio is letting you drive and go. The _nerve_ of actors these days!" I yelled at them, gesturing wildly with my hands.

"What?" he said again, his brows furrowed in confusion. The shorter one stared at me, half squinting, half glaring, trying to work out what I meant. Did they seriously think that this was not crossing boundaries? Sure, I watched Supernatural whenever it was on, but seriously? I did not need Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles questioning me about my dead dad. What were they thinking?

"If this is some stupid promotion to get more people to watch Supernatural then the person in charge of advertising your stupid show needs to be fired. Now; Get. Off. My. Lawn."

With a loud bang I shut the door behind me. This was infuriating. Who did they think they were? As I turned away from my door, I heard a splintering crack. Turning around, I watched the door falling down in horror as Jared's foot swung into view.

"What the hell?" I screamed in panic as Jared and Jensen barged through the gaping hole that was now my doorway.

"We need to talk." Jensen said bluntly, looking determined.

"Get the FUCK out of my house!" I exclaimed, backing slowly into the kitchen, my eyes glancing back for a weapon every few seconds. These guys took their job _way_ too seriously.

"Look, I promise I'll watch your show or something, OK?" I squeaked, barely sounding like myself. I looked behind me again, but dammit, not a phone or weapon in sight to ward off my crazy attackers. Jensen and Jared exchanged looks.

"My name is Sam and this is my brother Dean-" Jared started to say in a some-what soothing tone, but I interrupted, pleading with the men, "Yeah I watch the show, I know who you play. Just leave; I promise to watch every Tuesday!"

I held my hands up in front of me, trying to get as much room between myself and the crazy actors. When they left I was definitely calling the cops.

"No," Jared continued to say, as he and Jensen walked closer to me, "I'm actually Sam Winchester. This is my actual brother Dean Winchester. This isn't a t. . This is real."

I looked around helplessly, as I continued to back away from them.

"This isn't **The French Mistake**, guys. Look, maybe you need to go get some mental help, or stop using drugs, but-oomph!"

I fell backwards, tripping over a chair. My body made dull noise as it flopped gracelessly to the ground. My head cracked against the hardwood and black dots flashed before my eyes.

"Are you Ok?" Jared asked, rushing towards me. I groaned in response and tried to stand. Immediately I tumbled forward, almost hitting my face on my kitchen table.

"Woah! Easy there hotshot!" Jensen said, grabbing me before I hit my head again. If I didn't have a concussion from before, I definitely did now. I wrenched my arm, out of his grasp and wheezed out, "Can you guys just go?"

"At least let us drive you to the hospital." Jared said, his brow furrowed. Did I really want to get in the car with two crazies? My head pulsed, and as I touched the growing lump on my head my decision was clear. I glanced outside to see the Impala sitting outside my house. Why would the studio even let them drive it?

"Fine." I answered, my voice clouded over with pain. That's the least they could do.

* * *

"Well Mr. Myers you definitely have a concussion." Dr. Lewis stated as he came back into the room. He plopped the test results onto my lap. Unfortunately, my vision was too blurry to actually _read_ the results.

"Nothing a little rest can't handle," he continued. I inwardly groaned. "Did you drive yourself here today?" he asked, a little concerned.

"No, some guys gave me a ride." I answered him, wondering if the actors would take me home. Maybe they should be tested for drugs or something. But then I'd probably lose my ride home.

"Good. Take it easy for the next few days Mr. Myers. No texting, reading, working, writing, or any strenuous activity. I hope to see you never again." Dr. Lewis said in a cheerful tone. He grinned at me and I gave him a sarcastic smile.

"Same. Thanks Doc."

I stood up and shook his hand. I slowly ambled back to the waiting room where Jared and Jensen were waiting for me. I wasn't really pissed at them anymore, I was just tired, a feeling I had often these days.

As I stood in the doorway, I noticed that they were yelling softly at each other. Which was weird. Personally, I didn't know that they were close enough that they fought with each other. I thought their whole "best friend" act off-screen was fake.

I walked into the waiting room and their conversation cut off abruptly. The two men stood up in unison. I just jutted my head towards the door and continued walking, signaling them to follow me. They exchanged a glance with each other but otherwise trailed after me. Ok, so maybe I was still a little pissed off.

We walk towards the exit of the hospital in relative silence, only the scuffle of their dress shoes against the shiny hospital floor was heard. The florescent lights hurt my eyes, a side effect of the concussion, and I squinted against the harsh light in defiance.

I walked out the hospital doors and squinted even more as the natural light hit my eyes. It still looked weird though but I shook it off, concussion, right? Still, I kept looking over my shoulder, feeling paranoid.

I climbed in the back of the Impala after Jensen unlocked it. It was weird, in the car. It almost felt like I was with the real Sam and Dean. The initials were actually carved into the back seat. I had to admit, the producers were really a stickler for details. As Jared and Jensen climbed in the front seats, I started talking, my voice sounding defeated.

"Look, guys, just drive me home and leave. It was truly a pleasure meeting you, no really, but let's not make it a habit."

"Alright buddy, sorry 'bout that." Jensen said with a tight smile on his face.

"So, um Darren, that earthquake last night...?" Jared started after an awkward silence.

"Yeah, that was crazy, what was it, a 7 on the Richter scale?" I asked with genuine curiosity. My mom liked scientific stuff like that. When I was a kid she'd had a job for a little while working as a secretary to some scientist. She'd (the scientist) graph things and compare the platonic plates in the Earth's crust to the earthquakes richter and sometimes my mom would help her. My eyes grew wide with the thought of my mom..

"SHIT! My mom!" I yelled, learning forward. My vision swam with the sudden movement, but I ignored it.

"What happened?" Jensen said gruffly, keeping his eyes on the road.

"After the earthquake I couldn't find her or my aunt! I was so tired I-uh, fell asleep. I was gonna try and find them today!" Barely pausing for breath, I continued.

"Shit. What if they're hurt? It's been all day, she would've called me by now!"

Panic was setting in and my breaths came in short, shallow gasps. Should I call the cops? I had no idea what to do. Would my mom and aunt show up on their own?

"Calm down, we'll help you find them." Jared said, shooting a fleeting look at Jensen, who had a slight frown on his face. They made eye contact for a few seconds and then broke away. Their side glances were getting annoying.

"No, you've done enough for today, I'll find them myself." I snapped.

We pulled onto my street. As we came close to my house, I unbuckled my seat belt, ready to leave this crazy car. But my house came and passed and they didn't even acknowledge their mistake. What if it _wasn't_ a mistake. Oh God, had I been kidnapped? We passed my street and I exclaimed, barely keeping control of the tremor in my voice, "Really, kidnapping me, guys? What the hell is going on?!"

"Look, we need to talk," Jensen said, his eyes connecting with mine through the mirror. I gaped at the men. Jared turned around and gave me a half-sympathetic look in return.

"TAKE ME BACK!" I shouted at him in fury and fear. Would I have to fight them? I couldn't even take these two when I was healthy, much less with a concussion. Jensen abruptly pulled over on the side of the road, a good distance from mine and turned towards me. He had a serious look on his face.

"Darren, there was no earthquake last night."


End file.
